


From Shadowed Vantage

by leporidae



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Illusions, Illustrations, POV Catra (She-Ra), Post-Season/Series 01, Regret, Zine: Promises - A Catradora Fanzine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: Two kingdoms of opposing ideals are at stake, but all they can see is each other, an acute pain much more personal and poignant than that of a simple war.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	From Shadowed Vantage

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic I can finally post! This one is for [Promises: A Catradora Zine,](https://twitter.com/catradorazine) which was an absolutely beautiful project I was so happy to be a part of. Seriously, I love She-Ra. The character and worldbuilding inspires me so much, what a great series. Catra especially is one of the most compellingly written antagonists in a show I've watched for along time (in my opinion) so it was fun to explore her angst and thought process in this fic.
> 
> I also had the pleasure of collaborating with [verororoni](https://twitter.com/verororoni) who drew an absolutely gorgeous piece of art to go along with this fic (which I've inserted with her permission). I love the colors and atmosphere so much and I still appreciate how helpful she was in the creative process, giving me concept sketches that helped me work out my own concept as well. So go give her lots of love too!

Where Adora goes, Catra follows, even on opposite sides of an irreconcilable war. It is for this reason that Catra finds herself entering the Whispering Woods yet again, setting fragile sentimentality aside to collect intel on the enemy. 

At least, that’s what Catra tells herself as she traverses the forest, acutely aware of her own movements as she pads through the frostbitten foliage. Adora has returned here once again after the Horde’s attack on Bright Moon, and it is basic military strategy to know the enemy’s habits, the places they go to relax — and the places they go to seek help from their spiritual ancestors. Adora wouldn’t be here unless in dire straits, and it gives Catra some satisfaction to imagine her inner turmoil and helplessness. Each crack in Adora is also a crack in She-Ra’s princess facade, an imperfection that Catra can dig her claws into until the mask shatters, leaving nothing but a broken Adora, Catra standing over the wreckage triumphantly, affirming she had always been in the right.

After some time of senseless wandering, Adora’s listless legs carry her to the entrance of the First Ones’ citadel, and Catra pauses from her perch in a tree, tail flicking side to side with agitation. _Here, again? All right, so this just confirms that Adora comes here to mope and cry to her hologram mommies when she’s sad._ Lip curling in disgust, she scoffs silently, pressing one clawed hand to her mouth lest she alert Adora to her presence.

Catra’s last journey inside the citadel’s labyrinth of illusions had been nothing short of disastrous, a near-death experience where visions of her childhood had tormented her against her will. It’s not an adventure she particularly wishes to repeat, so there’s no reason to enter again. _Reconnaissance over_.

Yet Catra’s legs move on their own, crouching down in preparation for silent pursuit. Though there’s no logical reason to persist, Catra trails behind Adora instinctively as the glowing citadel entrance opens below ground, slipping in behind her with a carefully measured gait. Leaving her own territory to follow Adora inside her personal sanctuary is not wise, and it certainly isn’t a suitable course of action for any self-respecting Force Captain.

_But since when does self-respect factor in where Adora is concerned?_

Despite having traveled here once before, the crystalline walls of the citadel sparkle with magic still foreign to Catra, and her nose scrunches. The whole atmosphere is _wrong_ , permeating her skin and causing her fur to stand on end. This isn’t where she belongs, and at one point it hadn’t been where Adora belonged.

Now Adora may as well belong to the citadel and the princesses — not to the Horde. And certainly not to Catra.

Adora unsheathes the Sword of Protection, the artifact that had catalyzed the end of _Adora and Catra_ as a unit, and the weapon that had elevated the two of them, separately, to greater heights than they could have ever imagined. Even now Catra questions her own decision to return the sword to Adora when she just as easily could have reigned victorious in that moment. But what Catra desires is not a cheap win when Adora’s magical powers are reduced. No, what she wants is to crush Adora at the height of She-Ra’s abilities, in such a manner so there remains no question as to which of them is stronger.

Catra expects Adora to shout her ridiculous mantra and transform into She-Ra to access the holograms for advice. _Advice she used to get from me,_ Catra thinks bitterly. Instead the hilt slips from Adora’s hand as her grip loosens, and the sword clatters against rock. At first Catra believes Adora has bent down to retrieve it, but when she remains crouched to the ground, Catra realizes that Adora has crumpled to the floor, defeat apparent in her slackened limbs, with no intention to recover the sword at all.

“Why is this so hard?!” Adora wails, and her voice cracks as she smashes her fists against the ground. The sudden blow is thankfully loud enough to mask the startled hiss Catra sucks in through her teeth. But without She-Ra’s strength the stone remains unbroken, and Adora’s hands bounce off the surface, as helpless as her outcry.

Catra’s lips curl at the pathetic display.

“I can’t do this,” Adora says, softer. “I can’t fight _her.”_

The declaration should have made Catra feel smug.

A vision begins to take shape in the citadel in response to Adora’s words as reality warps into a projection, fragments of a not-so-distant memory. Catra’s ears flatten back against her head as she shrinks back, unsettled as ever by the citadel’s illusionary magic, its nearly sentient ability to extract memories from its visitors’ subconscious and display them in all their painful splendor, forcing the viewer to relive agonies best left buried in the recesses of one’s mind.

From her vantage point behind one crystal pillar Catra watches as the hazy images take shape, rippling out from the center of the crystal like a pond settling after the disturbance of a tossed stone. In the vision she and Adora are in Bright Moon, the setting of Catra’s near victory — and ultimate failure — against the Princess Alliance. A war rages around them, the clash of princesses and Horde soldiers increasingly desperate on both sides. But in that moment, Adora and Catra may as well have been alone, facing one another with sword and claws unsheathed. Two kingdoms of opposing ideals are at stake, but all they can see is each other, an acute pain much more personal and poignant than that of a simple war.

Adora’s past declaration rings through the citadel as her hologram speaks.

_There’s no way you win this!_

Then Catra’s own words answer her, the ghostly echo of a derisive sneer.

_I already made it a lot farther than anyone thought I would._

Claws slash through the skin of Adora’s — no, _She-Ra’s_ back, carving lines in flesh both familiar and foreign. Adora flinches visibly at the moment of impact in the ghostly image.

Back then Catra had tasted a moment of manic victory as Adora’s blood glistened the tips of her claws, filling her with a sense of power, of righteousness. With triumph Catra had stood over the battered Adora, one thumb mockingly carding through a strand of blond hair before letting go of the princess and watching her leaden body splash into the water with defeat. And yet now, looking upon the scene as an outsider to her own violence, Catra can only feel increasingly disgusted by what she sees, the echoes of her own mocking laugh twisting her insides into knots.

Turning her gaze away from the ethereal projection, Catra shrinks back, tail curling around her torso as her ears flatten against her head. Coming here was a mistake. She’d known this and had followed Adora here anyway — and for what? To torture herself with reminders of her failures until she second-guesses the path she has chosen?

Slowly the sound of the vision fades away, and the natural glowing light of the citadel is restored, though Catra cannot bring herself to look back at Adora after what the both of them had witnessed. “Thank you,” Adora says, voice reverberating off the walls with the virtue of She-Ra and certainty of a former Horde soldier. “For showing me what I needed to see. I don’t want to fight Catra…”

Catra’s fangs sink painfully into her lower lip as she suppresses a gasp. For a flash her body tingles with that light and foreign feeling she hasn’t experienced for so long, not since Adora left. _Hope._ Has Adora finally seen the error of her ways? _Catra was right all along,_ Adora will say next. _I’m wasting my time with those princesses. Catra was the only friend I ever needed…_

The vision of a scene arises in Catra’s mind in which she leaps out from behind the pillar and faces Adora, tail swishing hopefully as Adora turns towards her, tears in her eyes. Catra will run to Adora, grab her by the wrist and spin her around, as their gazes lock together with reassuring familiarity.

_We’re better together, remember?_

Catra hugs herself, nails digging into her own arms. What would Shadow Weaver say to such childish fantasies? _Your thoughts are just like mine, Catra. You know as well as I that without Adora, we will never win. Adora’s power will save the Horde. You can never beat her. That’s why she must return to us —_

“...I don’t want to fight her, but I have to.”

Adora’s voice cuts through the silence, and Catra’s tempestuous thoughts go utterly blank.

“She was serious about defeating me, steadfast in her conviction. If I want to protect Bright Moon, and the Princess Alliance, I have to be serious, too. Thank you for showing me what I needed to see…” There’s a quiet sniffle from Adora, one Catra hears but wishes she hadn’t. “I promise I won’t falter in the future.”

What was that feeling again, that _hope?_ Suddenly Catra isn’t sure she’d even felt it at all. Clenching her fists, she leans out from behind the pillar, chancing one last glance at Adora, at her rival and friend, her savior and betrayer — and her blood roils at the image before her; Adora has risen to her feet and dipped her body into a bow, affirming her loyalty to the First Ones’ citadel, to Light Hope and the princesses and the sword that had torn her from the Horde.

Loyalty to everyone but Catra.

Had she really fantasized about a tearful embrace with that traitor just moments ago? Catra’s skin crawls at the thought of her own weakness, her _hope_ that casts a shadow over what should be unshakable resolve. Pristine happy endings are for princesses and sheltered children who haven’t seen how the world truly works. Not for her. She’ll carve her own ending for herself, pristine or not. A happy ending not for _Adora and Catra,_ but for _Catra,_ something unique to her for once in her life.

Adora is right. Neither of them can falter.

It’s the path they have chosen.


End file.
